


Now I Wake

by Vanr



Series: Every Time I Lose You [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode: s04e22 Crime and Punishment, F/M, Prison, Spoilers, my boy's going to jail y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanr/pseuds/Vanr
Summary: “And now I wake up,” he said quietly, to himself more than anyone else. He dug his wrists into the cuffs, trying to shock himself into accepting what was happening to him. “And now I wake up.”“Jake…” came Rosa’s voice from somewhere behind him. “This isn’t a dream.”And with that, he woke up.





	Now I Wake

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to the episode, but also to another work entitled And Every Time It Hurts A Little More. Give it a read if you'd like.

This all had to be a dream. A nightmare. A hallucination. Something horrible, something horribly realistic, yes, but something he could wake up from.  
  
Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to win. He was innocent. He was a _nice_ boy.  
  
And he may not have known many things, but one thing he understood with perfect clarity was that the good guys always won. And he was a good guy. So... why hadn't he won? Why was it that when the verdict had passed and he and Rosa had been found guilty, he felt like he was dreaming? Like if he pinched himself, thought hard enough, or clicked his heels together he would wake up from this and he would find himself lying in bed next to Amy, wondering why his dreams had been so unusually dark.  
  
The verdict was passed. He was guilty.  
  
He was going to jail.  
  
He stood up, staring at the judge pleadingly. He knew this man, had worked with him on a lot of cases before. Surely he knew that Jake was innocent?  
  
But the judge had nothing for him. Nothing at all. He shrugged, seeming sorry but not sorry enough to try to help him. So much for the kisses he'd sent the judge (although, to be fair, those kisses had originally been meant for Sophia).  
  
And his lips parted and he muttered “Cool cool cool cool” repeatedly under his breath. But really, things were as far from cool as they were possible to get. And with that realization, he felt the desperate need to see _her._    
  
He turned to look for Amy, desperate. She was sitting there, her beautiful eyes wide and staring at him. Gina’s hand rested on her shoulder, comforting her, and in that moment Jake was eternally grateful that Gina was there, doing what he couldn’t.  
  
But it still hadn’t settled in yet. He couldn’t have lost. He couldn’t have.  
  
The bailiff came over to him and Rosa, snapping cuffs around his wrists. The cold metal bit into his wrists and he still couldn’t believe it.  
  
“And now I wake up,” he said quietly, to himself more than anyone else. He dug his wrists into the cuffs, trying to shock himself into acknowledging what was happening to him. “And _now_ I wake up.”  
  
“Jake…” came Rosa’s voice from somewhere behind him. “This isn’t a dream.”  
  
And with that, he woke up.  
  
He was being dragged away, and Amy was standing off by Gina and Holt. Her fingers were stretched towards him. He tried his best to reach her, to touch her, to give her any scrap of comfort he could, but the bailiff yanked him roughly away before their fingers could meet.   
  
“Amy!” he shouted back at her, doing his best to pour everything he felt for her in the last few words he had left. “I love you so much. Amy, I- I love you.”  
  
Her eyes grew teary and she nodded her hand still outstretched toward him. “I love you too, Jake. I always will.”

He was drowning, submerged in water, and she was trying to pull him out of the water which threatened to rise over his head.

  
And then she was gone and his lifeline, his salvation was gone, and he was outside the courtroom, standing outside on a sunny, cold New York summer’s day.  
  
He stared blankly out at the sky until Rosa was dragged out of the courtroom after him. She was fighting a lot harder than he had, screaming hoarsely at the two guards holding her back.  
  
His attention snapped to her, and he cleared his throat gently. “Rosa?” he asked, and was surprised at how small, how childish his voice sounded.  
  
She stilled, looked over at him. Her eyes were wide and terrified. He reached out a hand, touching Rosa’s cold fingers. He let out a choked sob, fingers tightening around her wrist. “What are we gonna do, Rosa?” he asked.  
  
Rosa seemed to deflate at the question, limbs sagging. She shook her head slowly, then frowned, delving into deep thought.   
  
Just a week ago, this outcome would have seemed impossible. A week ago, they had a foolproof plan for their defense and they had something else. Hope.  
  
Now their entire future was uncertain. And though Jake still had his hope, he could feel it beginning to sputter and die like a candle in the wind.  
  
“We’re gonna survive,” said Rosa gruffly, her voice sounded steely and determined and her eyes, fixed on Jake, never wavered an inch. “We are going to survive, Jake.”  
  
He believed that she would. He believed in her resolve. And though he knew he could do it if he tried, he felt the fighting spirit in him waver. He hadn't prepared for this. He wasn't ready. He'd been caught off-guard and sucker punched while he wasn't looking.  
  
“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted quietly, sliding closer to Rosa. He knew that they would wind up separated soon, but he stuck close to her for now. She moved closer to him in response, her elbow pressed against Jake’s side.  
  
“You can.” Her expression shifted, growing warmer. “A thousand push-ups.”  
  
It seemed so innocuous, especially to the other people in the van, but it was somehow exactly what he needed to hear. He steeled himself up, gathering his resolve. 

Because this was it, he realized. Everything before this, the mafia, witness protection, getting Captain Holt back, that was all a dress rehearsal for this. Those things had steadily built up and and the universe had dumped on him to prepare him for this.

Prepare him for the time when no one could help him out, not even himself. Prepare him for the time when he got in trouble doing his sworn duty to the city and neither his Captain nor his police badge could get him out of this one.

He had nothing, nothing but the flickering candle of hope and Rosa's promise. Her words to him. He was going to make it. A thousand push-ups.  
  
And that was the last thing he heard from Rosa for a long, long time. Because when the van stopped moving, he was brought to a small holding cell all on his own, and Rosa was brought somewhere on the other side of the building.

There was no spoken farewell between them. She nodded to him curtly, and he responded in kind. And although if he had chosen to go through this, Rosa probably wouldn't have been his first choice, he was suddenly grateful that she had been there. That he didn't have to go through this alone. 

And then she was gone and Jake Peralta, former NYPD detective, was left alone in a tiny, cramped jail cell. There was enough room for him to pace about four steps in each direction, and he did so at length.

He couldn't shake the vague, desperate hope that if he kept on going, kept on walking, he could go far enough and walk right on home.

And he knew it was stupid, but that didn't stop him. He walked.

And he walked.

And he walked.

 _And now I wake up. And_ now _I wake up._    
\---  
  
He was transferred after four hours of nothing but pacing. Transferred to Riker's Island. 

He'd been to Riker's a lot, to interrogate perps mostly. He'd also assumed that those visits, combined with the research he'd done when Amy had gone undercover in Texas, would adequately prepare him for prison life. 

Some things, he knew. He wasn't surprised when his jail cell contained only a bunk bed and a sink and toilet. He wasn't surprised to find his clothes taken from him and to be given only a blanket, orange jumpsuit, mess kit, and a couple scant toiletries in return. He wasn't surprised to find that he had a cellmate.

But nothing could have prepared him for the tension that permeated every aspect of the place. He'd been tense when Amy had been in jail, but that was because he'd loved her and she was willingly hanging with a murderer. 

This was different. Jake didn't have an objective, anything to focus his mind on. He had nothing. Nothing.

His cellmate was so  _young_ , too. He didn't even look old enough to be shaving, let alone out of juvenile hall. He seemed too kind to be imprisoned. Jake didn't understand why he was there. He felt guilty, stereotyping a criminal look, but this kid was too... gentle. 

"You're innocent," was the first thing the kid said to him, waking up from a nap to lay eyes upon his cellmate for the first time. It wasn't even a question. It was a statement.

Jake felt the edges of his lips twitch upwards, not quite a smile. He was reminded, for just a quick moment, of Captain Holt and his excellent powers of deduction. He felt a sudden pang of anger, wishing people like this guy had served on his jury. He was surprised that the kid had noticed, surprised that the kid was showing him any compassion. "Ye- yeah. You?"

The kid grinned ruefully. "Not anymore," he said, shrugging one shoulder. He didn't look particularly regretful of that fact. "This place kinda drains the innocence outta you, ya know?"

He nodded. 

But the kid frowned at that, shaking his head. "Nah. You don't know. Not yet. But you will."

And that, of all things, sent the most chills up his back. 

Because although he had been frightened before, he didn't know exactly what. And now, he understood with absolute clarity. 

He was afraid. He was worried that the Jake Peralta who came out of jail, fifteen years later (or sooner, if he's lucky) won't be the same Jake as the one who went in.

He's worried that this will change him, twist him until he becomes something new, something broken.

He's afraid that when he gets out, the people who loved him won't be able to recognize him anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for a sequel work, titled "The Things We Lost".


End file.
